Such A Talented Group
by Wolvertique
Summary: A play Kitty wrote for the First Annual X-Men Talent Show backfires. Rated for angst, slash themes, X-men in drag, etc. CyclopsNorthstar.
1. Divine Comedy

Author's note: This chapter was written in response to a challenge. I had to include certain funny lines, Scott singing to "Macho Man" coming out of the shower, and a reference to Kurt/Ororo romance. Hope you enjoy!

The First Annual X-Men Talent Show, Charles Xavier and Henry McCoy emceeing, was proving to be a great success. Jamie Madrox had done a marvelous performance of Weird Al Yankovic's "I Think I'm a Clone Now," Dr. McCoy had played a terribly complicated Rachmaninoff piece, and now it was Kitty's turn. The curtain opened on Bobby Drake, long frizzy red wig in place, horribly made up, wearing one of the "fat" outfits Jean had thrown away last month. The audience burst out laughing, other than Jean, Scott, and Warren, as Bobby started humming "Some Day My Prince Will Come" into the mirror he was standing in front of. He was in a mock-up of the women's bathroom on the second floor, where the showers were.

The door opened and Kurt, dressed in one of Kitty's oldest and flashiest uniforms, came in, put his hand over his heart and gasped. "Why, Jean! What HAVE you done with your hair?"

Bobby pouted into the mirror and turned to face Kurt. "My hair gets frizzy when it gets wet, okay? But that doesn't give you any reason to ask if I stuck my finger in the wall socket again. Especially since," he declaimed with a ridiculously radiant look on his face, "SCOTT isn't here to defend me."

Through laughter and catcalls, Kurt struggled to get his next line out. "I won't, I promise you." Eyes glittering with mischief, he petted "Jean" on the head. "Good horsie."

"Why, you!" Bobby as "Jean" swatted at him but missed him by miles, yet Kurt fell down anyway, shouting "Unfair!" and going through the trap door in the stage.

"Jean" started putting on even more makeup as "Kitty" crawled back up through the floor, adjusting his wig. Just then, "Jubilee" walked in, a blushing Jamie Madrox in a pretty blue ballerina tutu and slippers. "Jubilee!" "Jean" called. "Why are you wearing a tutu?"

Jamie blushed and looked at the index card in his hand. He read, "Because all the three-threes were taken?" He frowned as the crowd became silent. "What does that mean, Kitty?" he called off-stage.

Kitty hissed from the wings, "It means I should have gotten Logan to take over this part when Remy got sick, not you! Now go on with the play!"

Through more laughter and catcalls from the audience, Kurt gestured at Bobby threateningly. "You may have won the battle, but you have not won the war!"

"Jean" put away "her" makeup in a huge ugly old knapsack with a tag on it reading "Prada." "Run along and play with your fellow Powerpuff Girls, Kitty."

"Kitty" made an angry face and ran offstage as "Jubilee" went center stage and said, "I love the Powerpuff Girls!"

The curtain closed, sets were swapped out, and the curtains opened on the men's restroom. There was a large 2x4 board there, upright, with red sunglasses and a small X-uniform on. It rose a small way into the air and moved jerkily on its wires to the tune of "Macho Man," and Scott screamed. "You said you'd keep that a secret!"

"Kitty" could be seen through the small window above the men's showers, video camera in "her" hand, eagerly taping Scott the 2x4's performance. Then "Bobby" walked in, Jubilee in a brown wig, the music cut out, and the board rested itself against the wall again. She waved at it cheerily. "Hi, Scott! Hey, did you hear the one about the priest, the rabbi, and the bartender?"

"Bobby" paused. "The same thing we do every night, Scott, try to take over the world!"

Then "Warren" entered, a bright but cold Emma Frost taking the part and looking it far more than anyone else so far, soft white wings at her back, carrying balloons and filling them at the counter. "Warren" nodded to Scott the 2x4, then frowned as she filled her first balloon. "Of course I know what I'm doing. I think."

"Bobby" snickered as "Warren" pretended to listen to the board. "You never want me to have any fun. You say I shouldn't divebomb guests with water balloons all the time, Scott. Have you ever tried it, or anything else fun?"

Finally, Kitty made her appearance, fake muscles bulging, nearly covered with hair, a cigar stuck in the corner of her mouth … as "Logan." She silently walked over to the sink and started pretending to wash her hands.

"Hey, Logan," "Bobby" and "Warren" chorused. Kitty grunted and kept washing her hands.

She grunted again and took the cigar out of her mouth. "I don't like you." The board remained motionless at this comment, though some people were rolling in the aisles by now.

"So Logan. What's up?" "Bobby" clapped him on the back, and "Logan" turned around and threw him to the ground.

"Not much." He paused. "Professor's out back."

"Hey, guys! Guys!" Ororo, apparently trying to imitate Forge, burst into the restroom. "Anyone here have the video camera?"

Kurt winked from the window and sank from view, but not before "Forge" blew him a kiss.

"Bobby" shrugged, "Warren" finished filling a balloon, and the board and Kitty remained still.

"Quick, get it! The professor's sloshed and he's doing wheelies in the rose garden!" "Forge" and "Bobby" left. The board rose jerkily into the air and flew into a wall, then offstage.

"Aren't you coming?" "Warren" asked, pausing before he left.

"Nah. This looks like a job for someone else."


	2. Deep in De Nile

Author's Note: I was inspired to write this chapter 2 by my chapter 1. I thoroughly enjoyed my #1, don't get me wrong, but if you want to keep the Scott bashing views and light-hearted tone it holds, for the Gods' sake don't read this chapter. It tries to humanize Scott and explain why he was behaving like an arrogant fathead. Also, it contains much slashiness and angst, so if you dislike them, don't read it either.

Now, for both of you readers who are left, please enjoy!

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Before the last number in the talent show started, Scott Summers got up and left the room, face red as his visor. Bobby happened to be off-stage and decided to follow him.

Scott rounded on him as soon as he noticed that Bobby was pursuing him. "What? Didn't you get in enough insults earlier?"

"Whoa, whoa there. You know you kinda deserve it, after the way you've been treating Jean-Paul. That's why Kitty rode you so hard in the play." Bobby was puzzled. Scott seemed to be on the verge of punching him. He backed up a couple steps.

"Yeah. Good old Jean-Paul, the most arrogant asshole to ever come out of Canada. And that's saying something, given that Logan also comes from there." Scott slammed his fist into his left hand in rage. "Figures you'd prefer him to me. We only joined the team together, had some tough times we supported each other through, all that. He even …" Scott bit his lip and scowled at the floor. "Never mind. I'm leaving."

"Scott?" Bobby pulled at the man's shoulder. "What is it? Come on, talk to me. Did J-P do something to you?"

"No." He jerked out of Bobby's grip and turned on him. "It's what he wants to do to you."

Bobby laughed. "Scott, everybody knows J-P would slap us all silly and make us little French speaking clones of him if he could."

"Oh. Really. And does everybody know that he's having sick sexual fantasies about you?" Bobby's eyes widened and Scott took a step back, then stopped, chin raised boldly. "That's right. Our famous Canadian mutant wants to screw your ass, Bobby. What do you have to say to that?"

Bobby gave his usual joking reply, "Um, he has good taste in men?"

Scott was silent. Bobby didn't know what to say. Scott had sounded angry, sure, but he also sounded hurt. He stammered, "God, Scott … are you saying you're jealous?"

The doors opened behind them and the audience started pouring out into the reception room beyond, but a few people were making their way over to the two men staring at each other in the passageway.

"What?" Scott's mouth dropped open a little. Bobby thought it over and nodded. The constant nagging, the way he sought out the man for more and harder practices than anyone else, it all made sense.

"You're jealous. God, Scott. I didn't know you had a crush on the guy. I just thought you hated him."

Scott snarled at him, face even more red. "Great. I just told the fucking Bobby Drake Gossip Network one more thing they can hate about Scott Summers. 'He's a fucking fairy, you know, the one all the gay jokes are about.' Why don't you just tie a huge fucking sign to Warren's ass and have him fly over the whole town so everybody can come over and KILL ME tomorrow?"

Scott turned and ran halfway down the hall, then looked back, hand on his visor. Bobby backed up, as did Kitty, Rogue, and Dazzler. He aimed at the ceiling and brought it down between them, raising a cloud of dust and smoke. Kitty phased after him, but Bobby stood there shaking his head. What the man must have been going through all this time … didn't Xavier know? Should he try to help or just leave him alone?

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Scott slammed the door to his room and sank back against it, relieved to at least be in a familiar place. His tears dripped down onto his sweater as he sat down on the floor and let his grief out. He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them for comfort.

Scott knew some people at the mansion didn't much like him, but he didn't think anyone hated him so much as to humiliate him like this in public. The Avengers had been here, as had most of the other major superheroes in this galaxy. Thankfully, his father and the Starjammers had been too busy with a mission to come, and Alex and Lorna were off digging up rocks in South America, but everyone else was there.

The professor didn't try to stop them. He shed bitter, angry tears over that. He thought Professor Xavier cared about him, at least.

A warm presence entered his room. "Go away, Kitty, you … go away."

"But, Scott, I …"

"I said go!" He sprang to his feet and pointed toward the main wing of the mansion. "You've done enough damage for one night, haven't you?" A tear tickled down his nose and splatted on the carpet.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Scott. I really am." She left and he sat down again to indulge his grievances again.

So the professor didn't really care about him. Fine. He could deal with that.

Jean did, though. In no way could he twist anything she had done or said tonight into anything less than concern and support. Of course, now that she knew he was more into men than women, she'd probably reject him too.

Oh, God. Now everyone was going to come down on him hard. He inhaled a deep breath that hurt. What about Northstar? Of anyone, he had the most right to be angry at Scott.

He had been quite a prick to the man, he had to admit, far beyond anything the arrogant bastard deserved, for the crime of stirring passions in Scott that he found it difficult to control. He had ruthlessly crushed out most other attractions he'd felt over time, to his teammates Kurt and Remy during his time with the X-men, and to other nameless men from his youth. Somehow Northstar got under his skin worse than the others ever had.

**Scott?**

He sniffled. **Go away, Professor.**

He felt the gentle mental touch giving him a little comfort, as if it were a pat on the shoulder, and then withdrawing.

What was he thinking about before he was interrupted? Oh. Yes. Northstar. Why he couldn't simply forget the man, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he knew that he was gay and thus available. Maybe it was a facet of his personality, some spark of difference that made him stand out. Maybe it was finding that damned fantasy two months ago and wishing with all his heart that it had been about him, that he could have inspired such golden words about his touch, his caress. Maybe it was the shattering of the small hope he'd let grow inside that somehow the beautiful, annoying, irritating man would turn to him some day and say …

Bamf.

Great. Wagner was here and he didn't have the energy to tell him to back off. Bastard.

He closed his eyes and took off his visor, wiping the tears from his face onto his sleeve. "What do you want, Kurt?" he asked, tired of fighting his damned teammates for his privacy. He replaced his visor and looked at the purple mutant through the vanishing red brimstone.

Kurt perched next to him, long legs curled up comfortably. "To make you feel better." He rested his head on his arms. "How can I help?"

"You can't. Get out." He shook his head. "There's nothing anyone can do."

Kurt sighed. "I won't leave. You know that." He took Scott's hand in his, purple fur brushing against his palm.

"Why? Doesn't your religion demand that you tell me I'm going to burn in hell, then leave, before I contaminate you?" He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the empathetic eyes that bored into his mind.

"No. My religion demands that I tell you that He accepts everyone, even people like you who would shut Him out if you could, despite what some say who misuse the faith."

"Whatever." He remained as he was, sunk down against the door, one arm embracing his knees, the other stretched over to Kurt.

"Please, mein freund. Let me help you."

He laughed. "Sure." He bounded up and paced ferociously, Kurt's orange eyes watching him with worry. Kurt couldn't help him, make him normal, make him want to follow Jean in the hallway so he could watch her rear sway instead of Remy's. He laughed again, a cold, frightening sound that he choked off halfway through because it terrified him.

Kurt jumped onto his bed and crouched there, tail lashing in distress. "You know," he said as he watched Scott wearing a trail into his carpet, "I have never been able to hide what I am … well, until the image inducer. From a baby, I was blue and furry."

Scott felt a little shame but kept walking, head down. Kurt continued talking. "I guess that was a blessing. I can now hide what I am, but I choose not to because I like what I am. I like being me."

"Well, good for you." The cruelty came unbidden, and this time Scott did not crush out the shame he felt. "Sorry," he said ungraciously.

Kurt nodded. Scott returned to pacing. "Still," Kurt added, "I know what it is like to be murdered for what I look like … nearly. Without the professor, I would be dead today." He slid down to the floor and pulled Scott close, hugging him. Scott permitted it, but remained stiff in Kurt's arms, refusing to let his control slip again. "I offer you my ears any time you wish to complain." His eyes sparkled and Scott felt his muscles relax a little. He gave Kurt a halfhearted pat on the back and then pulled away.

Kurt winked and left with another soft bamf. Scott threw himself down on his bed. He didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes for a minute and was soon deep in dark, strange dreams.


	3. Discovery

Jean-Paul Beaubier was figuring out his lesson plans for the next semester instead of attending the talent show, though he had worked with Rogue beforehand to help her test out her routine. He was deep in Week Eight (Running on the Margins) when the knock startled him out of his reverie. "Oui?" he called.

"Heya, J-P, open up, would ya?" Bobby Drake was at his door. He looked at his watch, startled. Eleven o'clock already?

He adjusted his collar, brushed a small piece of lint off his navy blue sweater, and opened the door. Bobby rushed into his room. "Close the door, would you? There's a draft."

Jean-Paul stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. "What are you doing here?"

Bobby bounced onto his bed. "Oo. Nice. Close the door so we can talk, okay?"

"Merde," he muttered, closing the door. "What do you want, Bobby?"

"Well, it's not really what I want." Bobby stretched out on the bed, mussing up the neat black silk bedspread, and Jean-Paul glared at him.

"Get off my bed." He pulled out his desk chair and held it out in invitation. "Sit. You have five minutes before I throw you out, Monsieur Drake."

Bobby reluctantly got up and moved to the chair. "Okay. I kinda outed Scott tonight. I didn't mean to, but …"

Jean-Paul interrupted him. "Scott Summers." Bobby nodded. "Gay." Another nod. "You told people about it."

Bobby looked at him sheepishly. "Well, I just got it figured out and I was talking about it as I did, and I wasn't really paying attention to who else was listening." He fidgeted under the icy blue stare Northstar was giving him. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't mean to do it. I was just teasing him. I didn't really think he was gay … for God's sake, we've been teammates for eons. I thought I'd know by now if he was."

Jean-Paul folded his arms over his chest. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. Talk to him. He's thrown Kitty and the professor out so far, and I'm sure he's going to toss Kurt out on his ear, too. He wouldn't talk to me either. Maybe he'd talk to you."

He hesitated, releasing one arm to tap his fingers against the wood of his desk. "What makes you think he would talk to me?"

"Hey. Worst case scenario, he tosses you out. He's done worse than that to you already. Best case scenario, he finally gets some relief from his pain and stops being an ass to you. It's a win-win for you, J-P." Bobby ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. "Besides, seeing that …" He paused and his eyes shifted, then dropped to the floor. "Never mind."

Jean-Paul pulled his chin up. "Never mind what, Robert Louis Drake?" He hated having things hidden from him.

Bobby squirmed. "I shouldn't tell you. It's kind of a secret." He blushed as Jean-Paul's face drew closer to his and his breath became uneven, nervous, eyes shifting from side to side, looking for escape.

"I think you do have to tell me, non?" Jean-Paul worked on staring the other man down, seeing his nervousness at his approach. Bobby was not going to hide important information from him.

Bobby was nearly dancing in his seat, trying to pull away from Jean-Paul's determined gaze. "Well, ScottkindafoundsomefantasyyouwroteaboutmeandgotjealoussomaybeyoucanhelpnowIgottagobye!" Bobby choked out, then turned to ice and slid out of Jean-Paul's hand and sped toward the door.

Jean-Paul was there ahead of him, turning the key in the lock and putting it into his pants pocket. "Say it again slower, please."

Bobby panicked, running to the window and then bracing himself in the furthest corner of the room, a terrified look on his face.

Jean-Paul drew himself up to his full height and tensed. _This is just like other times, other places…even mutants don't accept me._ "Get out." He unlocked the door and opened it, violently swinging his arm to encourage Bobby to leave.

Bobby relaxed a little and said, "No, no, J-P, I just…"

"GET OUT!" He pushed the frozen body of Bobby Drake through his door and locked it after him in a second, then sank to the bed and trembled. He felt as if he had been assaulted. He hated when people looked at him like he was a monster for being who he was, who he had to be. And hateful Scott had found something he wrote to make himself feel better, about a random person who had shown him some kindness …

Jean-Paul Beaubier pulled away from the bedspread in time to keep from spoiling it with his tears.


	4. Deeper

Scott's door was unlocked. He paused, listening. No one appeared to be inside.

He wasn't sure why he'd come. After all, the man hated him. To be fair, he didn't like Scott, either. He was self-righteous, arrogant, and blind.

All right, he told himself. I should be honest. I do know why I am here.

He pushed the door open. Darkness greeted him. He swiftly shut and locked the door, then moved over to the bed.

Moonlight streamed in the window. After a minute, his eyes had adjusted. He saw Scott lying on the bed, fully dressed, curled up into a ball. His visor had slipped off and was lying a few inches from his face.

He bent over the other man. Scott's eyes were closed tight. There was a large damp spot under the man's forehead, as if he had cried himself to sleep, and not too long ago. He knelt by the side of the bed and looked at him.

Dieu. He felt pity. Scott looked very young, alone, and hurt. His arms were held up as if to ward off a blow. He also felt a little guilt. He had known about the plans for the play, but he didn't know it would hurt the man so badly. Didn't care, either.

Another tear slid out of the man's closed left eye, dripping over the bridge of his nose to the bedspread. His mouth moved and his arms tensed. Jean-Paul remained where he was, waiting, until Scott gave a melancholy sigh and stopped moving.

He shouldn't wake Scott. He probably needed all the rest he could get. He gently put the man's visor in front of his eyes, sprang to his feet, and his knees let out a loud crack.

Scott twitched awake with a gasp, keeping his eyes closed and grabbing for his visor. "Who? What?" He adjusted the visor over his eyes and tensed. "Tell me."

Jean-Paul turned on the bedside lamp and sat on the edge of the bed. Scott's face twitched, then went still. His head bowed and he looked at his hands. "Go ahead. I deserve it." A muscle in his left cheek twitched, but otherwise his face remained immobile.

"It is possible you have been punished enough tonight."

Scott didn't move.

"Bobby visited me earlier. He said he … told people you were gay."

Scott sniffed. "Yeah."

"Is it true?" He waited, one arched eyebrow raised, watching Scott.

Scott sat up, wiping off his face with one sleeve. He winced at the sight. What that could do to a good sweater …

"Yes." He sat erect, defiant, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"He also told me you …" Merde. He did not want to have to ask about it. "He said you might have something of mine."

"Bobby said I was a thief, too?" The corners of Scott's mouth turned down and trembled.

"Not exactly." He paused. "Something I lost about two months ago."

Scott sat, frozen, resting against the wall behind his bed. A tear trickled from his right eye down his cheek, catching in his slight beard stubble along the way. "He would have to talk about that." His voice was unsteady.

"That was when you got much worse, wasn't it?" It all started making sense now. How easy it was to simply believe Scott was an ass, like most English speaking cretins. He still wanted to, to be honest, because he still felt hurt. But it was getting harder to maintain that belief.

"I'm sorry." The tear was joined by another, slowly slipping down, forming its own trail. "I know it's not enough. But I am."

"Why did you do it?" He took Scott's tough hand in his slender one. Scott tried to pull away, but he held on.

"Didn't Drake the Town Crier already tell you?"

"Let us just say I do not believe everything Monsieur Drake has to say is true without hearing it from you, first."

More tears ran down Scott's cheeks as he sat in the dim light. He looked to his left, away from Jean-Paul. "I don't deserve that, but thank you anyway."

"So, why?"

He shook his head. "I just…look." He turned and faced Jean-Paul. "You've accepted this whole, I mean … for a while now. I never have. I wished I could, when I saw you …" He paused. "It was still hard to take, but I finally had some hope that maybe someday someone would understand, when I was ready to tell. Then, to read that beautiful story, and know I wasn't at all what you had in mind, I couldn't take it. I had no more hope. Do you understand that?"

The Canadian mutant shook his head. "Not really."

Scott turned away. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, it matters." Jean-Paul turned off the lamp, plunging Scott into darkness again. He bent to kiss the man's forehead, one knee planted on the bed.

Scott stretched, trying to get comfortable. His right leg brushed up against Jean-Paul's, unsteadying him, and he felt gentle pressure against his lips. He froze for a moment, then did one of the few impulsive things he had ever done. He reached up and pulled the man closer. After all, if he had to get the teasing, the shunning, the other negative reactions now that he was known to be gay, he was damned well going to get something good out of it.

Jean-Paul, unsettled, found his mouth on Scott's and stopped. What was going on here? Then the man pulled him closer and enfeu, if Scott wasn't gay, he was giving an Oscar-worthy performance. He went with it. The intimacy, the closeness, the sheer heat was wonderful.

Both men were breathing hard by the time they separated. Jean-Paul cleared his throat. "You know," he said casually, "you are going to have to apologize a lot in the next few days. You should. You have a lot to make up for. Never apologize for this, though." He unlocked and opened the door, then walked through it, adjusting his collar.

The door closed and Scott got up to lock it, then laid awake in his bed for a while, thinking over what had just happened.


End file.
